


Istanbul

by Weesner_Olivia95



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weesner_Olivia95/pseuds/Weesner_Olivia95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A personal take on the continuation of The Man From UNCLE (2015) movie. This story picks up right where the movie left off; with Illya, Napoleon and Gaby headed off to their next mission as part of UNCLE, with Alexander Waverly at the helm. With this next mission to Istanbul, the team realizes that to succeed the roles must be switched. How will the team react, and what will happen between Illya and Gaby?</p><p>Any comments on the writing or plot of the story, feel free to leave a comment. Also, if there is anything that you (as the reader) want me to include, again just leave a comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own personal interpretation of the characters from the 2015 movie and not from the tv show. In my writing I will try to keep the characters in my story as close to the ones in the movie that I can. My goal is to write a realistic fanfiction that correlates with the movie.  
> I understand that everyone has different ideas/ships with different pairings of characters and this is my interpretation of The Man From UNCLE.

           Illya subconsciously fumbled with his bow tie as he scanned the room. His tux, he felt, was much too flamboyant for a simple art gala, but Solo had insisted as well as Waverly. He let out a short breath and dropped his arms to his sides and rolled his hands into light fists as he continued to survey the room. Waverly, the head of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement had made Illya the face of the team’s next mission. When he first learned of the plan, Illya had calmly excused himself to his room and proceeded to leave the bathroom mirror in shards. He tightened his left fist in memory of the event; he felt the small scabs on his knuckles stretch as he clenched his fist harder. Turning slowly and casually, like Solo had shown him; Illya grabbed a champagne flute off of a passing waiter’s tray to hide not only his awkwardness but to also scan more of the room. As he lifted the drink, he spotted her; on the edge of the room in front of a large abstract painting of what he assumed was a land scape. The painting itself was not what had caused Illya to set down the glass and begin strolling through the crowd, but rather the hand that he had noticed on Agent Tellers forearm.

           “Peril,” Illya could hear the cowboy’s warning voice in his head. His fingers began tapping rapidly on his thigh. He could not give up Tellers identity for his own selfishness. He knew that the mission, no matter how ridiculous, depended on her performance.

***                                                 

( **Rome, Italy. Three days ago)**

            Waverly had briefed them on the upcoming mission and had given them all one hour to pack. As Illya meticulously folded his few clothes, he went over the details in his head. While the Vinciguerra’s were no longer a threat, it became known that before Dr. Teller’s sudden death, he contacted a fellow scientist from Istanbul to attempt an escape. No response had been received from the young scientist, Baris Yavuz. After the fall of the Vinicguerra family, Yavuz suddenly disappeared from his home and his laboratory was cleared of any evidence of his being there. An associate of the Vinciguerra’s, the Contessa Simona de Alcazar, left Rome for Istanbul the same day. While the Contessa, an elderly widow, was not suspected her son, Deigo del Alcazar was. Having been close to Victoria Vinciguerra, it was believed that she shared her plan with the young Alcazar. Both Deigo and his mother were last seen in Istanbul, preparing for an art gala.

            The plan was simple; become close with the Contessa and Deigo to locate and rescue Dr. Yavuz. The gala was to be used to get information about both people. There was only one small hitch in the plan, as Solo had stated.

            “The Contessa knows me. I met her at the Vinciguerra event. If I happen to show up in Istanbul at the same gala under a different name, she will most definitely become suspicious and our whole plan will be ruined.” Napoleon leaned back in his chair and pointed a casual finger in Illya’s direction. “Let Peril here be the face of the operation.”  Illya gripped his scotch glass tighter and leaned against the balcony railing.

            “Fine idea, Mr. Solo. But do you believe our comrade here can pull it off? He’s the most … sociable person.” Waverly looked at Illya over his glasses and eyed the burly agent. Illya himself was about to protest when Gaby spoke.

            “He can do it.” She said simply, “I am sure Solo and I can teach him a few things about being sociable.” She casually slid the large sun glasses into place, but not before giving Kuryakin a small wink.

            “Well then, let’s put this plan into action. Kuryakin, you have the Contessa, Teller the young chap. Solo you will do surveillance and coverage. You have one hour to pack your things. See you then.” Waverly stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and left without another word.

            Illya paused in his packing to glance behind him at Gaby, who was still carelessly throwing clothes into a large suitcase. She was to seduce Deigo and become close to him to gain information. Illya closed and locked his small case and strode over to the window, tapping furiously on the leg of his pants. He did not like the idea of Agent Teller having to seduce Deigo or get anywhere near him. She was, after all, barely even an agent; Waverly recruited her barely two years before to learn about her father’s assistance in the Vinciguerra plot. Illya had spent his life training to become a KGB agent and now, only three years later, was using his skills to seduce a Spanish Contessa.

            He pulled the curtains back from the window and looked out, crossing his arms. He could see Teller in the reflection of the window and studied her cautiously. In their last mission together they had been engaged and now they were not even to be acquaintances. He knew that if things went sour at the gala that he could protect himself, but he was unsure about Gaby’s abilities. Illya watched her continue packing and recalled that less than two days ago she had pinned him on his back. For such a small person she had held her own against one of the KGB’s best agents while nearly completely inebriated, he remembered. He also recalled the feel of her as she pinned him down; her breath coming quickly from the altercation and feel of her hair on his face as she held him down. While she wasn’t particularly heavy sitting on his chest, she used what weight she had to hold him steadily under her. He recalled the feel of her under his hands; the smooth, tones muscles in her arms, the trimness of her waist and the slight curve of her hips against his fingertips. Her thighs on either side of him, her chest moving in and out as she leaned closer to him, arms sliding to the floor.

            “Illya,” a hand on his shoulder made him turn quickly and unfurl his arms from his chest. “Let’s get going. Waverly will be waiting.” Gaby’s hand still lingered on his shoulder. “I will follow you,” Illya looked down at her face, her full lips. Illya wanted desperately to run a finger across those lips to feel their softness. He wanted to reach up and feel the heat from her face warm his hands, to stroke her soft skin of her cheek.  He was about to move his hand when she removed hers from his shoulder and turned to gather her suitcase. He remained still for a moment and then retrieved his bag as well as hers.

            “I will carry this” he said. It wasn’t a question and Gaby didn’t refuse, she simply nodded and they left the suite in search of Napoleon.


	2. Travel Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning the mission, the UNCLE team heads to Istanbul to establish their pseudonyms and learn more about what is to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bad case of writers block with this chapter. I apologize for the lack of substance. I promise to make up for that in the next chapter.

The plane ride from Rome to Istanbul was short and uneventful. Gaby and Napoleon slept, Waverly quietly reviewed files, and Illya stared out the window. He was still thinking about the mission. He was a top KGB agent, why was he going to use his skill set to “womanize” an elderly Spanish Contessa. If he had his way, he would go straight for Deigo and force him to speak; that was, after all, how he was trained. Illya looked from the window to where Napoleon and Gaby were sleeping. Napoleon sat reclined in a chair, his suit jacket folded across his lap. Gaby was across from Solo, curled completely in the seat with her head on the arm rest. Illya glanced down at his own form; his feet flat on the floor with his knees positioned above his hips because of his height. Nothing ever fit him, he was always too tall. After a while, he tried to sleep like the others. Moving away from the window, he sat a few seats down from Gaby, to keep a close eye on her. He zipped up his jacket all the way, pulled his hat down across his eyes and crossed his arms.

            Illya sat like this for a while, urging sleep to come to him, but the plane was too loud. He had been trained to sleep lightly, to awaken at the slightest movement or sound. Stretching his legs farther out, he repositioned and once against tried to sleep. At the sound of movement, he snapped his eyes open and tensed; he looked over to see Gaby wrapping her arms around herself, trying to get warm. After a pause, Illya stood up and removed his outer jacket, the leather one, and gingerly draped it across her shoulders. Gaby immediately pulled it close and buried herself under the vast material. Looking down at the small car mechanic swaddled in his jacket, she looked like a child. Illya felt tempted to brush her loose hair from her forehead but refrained and returned to his own seat, looking for sleep.

            Waverly greeted them at their lodging and handed each of them a folder. “I suggest you education your selves about the Alcazars’. Solo, the family history and their estates; Teller the young Deigo and his… exploits; and Kuryakin,” he handed Illya his folder with a sly smile, “the Contessa herself.” Illya clenched his jaw and took the folder, keeping his eyes on Waverly.                         “Now then, lodging; Solo and Kuryakin you are in suite 14 on the second floor, Teller suite 28 on the third floor. The gala isn’t for another two days, so take that time to do your reading” Waverly glanced up and down at Illya, “and maybe a little shopping if you can manage it.” He grabbed his own bags, gave a quick salute and headed out.

            Illya looked at Napoleon; it seems that they would be sharing a room. The mutual distain was evident in Napoleon’s eyes as it was in Illya’s. While they had worked together against the Vinciguerra’s, there was still tension between the two.

            “It seems we are stuck together again, Cowboy” Illya said. Napoleon raised his eye brows slightly, “Yes, I suppose this will give us more time to bond,” he said sarcastically. Napoleon slapped Illya briskly on the shoulder and walked off to find their room.

***

            The lodging that Waverly had set up for them was in one of the better hotels in Istanbul, much like the one in Rome. It was clear that this new agency did not need to worry about money for their missions. Just as Illya laid out his folder about the Contessa on the little table in the living room of the shared suite, Napoleon opened the bathroom door and walked out.

            “Come on, Peril,” he said grabbing his jacket from the rack, “We’re going out.”

            “No”. Illya didn’t even look up from the information in his folder. “Waverly said we are to educate ourselves about the mission. That is what I will do.” Illya heard Solo sigh and turn around to sit across the table from him.

            “Listen, Peril. We have two days to prepare for this gala. Teller has been trained well enough to accomplish her part of the mission, but as for you my Soviet friend,” Illya looked up from his folder, “you are not.” Napoleon pulled the file from Illya, closed it and tossed it onto the couch. “If you are going to pull this off, we need to make you more … likeable.” Solo smiled charmingly while Illya remained still. From the way Solo was smirking Illya could tell two things; he was not going to like what came next and there was no way out of it.


	3. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon and Gaby try to prepare Illya to be the "face man" of their next mission by teaching him how to conduct himself in a certain way. It becomes clear that Illya is really only good and using his fists and not his words.

“Again, Peril.” Napoleons head laid wearily in both of his hands. His normally glossy black hair was in a state of extreme disarray from him running his fingers through it. Illya stood once again and walked towards the door of Gaby’s suite. He turned his back to the door and faced the room; Napoleon sat in an over-stuffed Victorian chair and Gaby was lounging on a similar day bed, a large glass of vodka in her hand. Illya took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders once, twice, and set them. He felt ridiculous doing this, again. He tried to ‘saunter’, as Napoleon had called it, from the door to the chair beside him. The three of them had started out the night trying to get the over grown Russian to “make small talk”. It was quickly realized that Illya knew nothing of casual conversation and the team had moved on to the physical aspects; walking with confidence, simple handshakes and proper body language. That was it, but it seemed to Napoleon that he always did it wrong. Illya moved from the door, across the room and sank into the chair in front of Solo.

            “No, Peril!” Napoleon tossed his hands up. “You have to attract the attention of the room when you walk in. You _have_ to get the Contessa to approach you or at least take interest in you. The mission here is to become an ally to the Contessa to learn where Yavuz is and rescue him. A key part in this is you being able to capture the interest of the Contessa.”

            “I will say again what I said before; I do not like this plan. If it were my plan, I would simply force Alcazar to tell me,” Illya said, crossing his arms.  Napoleon massaged between his eyebrows for a moment and looked at the clock, it was well past midnight.

            “I am turning in for the night. We will try again in the morning, Kuryakin.” Solo glanced at Gaby lounging in the corner. “Teller, would you like to have a try?” Napoleon said through a yawn. Gaby pulled down her sun glasses and looked over them at both of the men; Napoleon looked warn and tired, his hair a mess and clothes wrinkled. Illya sat straight in a chair, his back not resting against it, eyes focused on his folded hands.

            “I’ll see what I can do, Solo. Go to bed.” Gaby waved a good bye at Napoleon as he left her suite and stood to move to the seat in front of Illya. Gaby and Napoleon had been trying since dinner to teach Illya to be more sociable; educating him about current topics, teaching him how to be charming. All had so far been disasters. While Gaby still had energy from sleeping on the plane, it was clear that Illya was fading. His hair and clothes were still in place, but Gaby could see the red veins of exhaustion in his eyes and the faint sluggishness of his movements.

            Gaby got up from the day bed and walked over to the small drink cart and poured herself another glass of vodka and a separate glass for Illya.

            “Drink this,” she said handing him the glass.

            “No. I do not drink, Chop-Shop girl. You know this.” Illya waved the glass away with his hand. Gaby sat across from him and pushed the glass into his palm, forcing him to hold it.

            “It is going to be a longer night if you don’t drink, Peril,” she said draining her glass.

Illya looked from Gaby to the clear liquid in his hand. He did not drink, he did not like drinking, so why was he suddenly swallowing and asking for more? He could feel the alcohol burn down his throat and settle in his stomach, slowly warming him from the inside out.

            “How is drinking going to help with the mission?” Illya asked as Gaby handed his full glass back.

            “It’s not,” she said casually, falling onto the day bed and pulling her feet up. “I just don’t want to drink alone anymore.” Illya set the glass on the table and stood up to leave. “It is late,” he stated, “I am going to bed. Good night.” He did not like being made a fool of, and if they were not going to work, then he would go. He turned and headed to leave when he heard Gaby stand up.

            “Wait,” she said, “Solo told me to work with you. If you won’t drink, then let’s work.” She set her glass down and crossed her arms. Illya turned around to look at her; she was already dressed in her classic striped pajamas, but the oversized sun glasses stayed on her head.

            “You may need to … seduce the Contessa, yes?” Gaby asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow and walking around Kuryakin.

            “If I have to, then yes,” he said coldly, staring straight ahead. She quickly jabbed a finger into his side that made him flinch and ball his hands into fists but continued to walk around him. He cast a sharp look at Gaby, a warning.

            “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling, “are you normally this tense?” she asked.

            “If you are just going to play, then I will leave,” Illya said, remembering when she had slapped him before.

            “Well, you are no fun,” she said, poking him in his other side. This time however, Illya grabbed her wrist and turned to face her. Instead of being frightened by the movement or the quick anger in his eyes, she smiled at him and began laughing.

            “We are part of same team now,” Illya said shortly, “I do not work in teams, let alone team made of children.” He let go of her hand, pulled his jacket on and moved to leave. Just as he reached for the handle, his glass of vodka flew through the air and smashed into the door, nearly missing his head. He whirled around to find Gaby standing on the small table in the center of the room, another glass and a vase aimed and ready to fire.

            “I am not a child,” she said calmly, “I am just as much of an agent as you are.” She threw the vase at the wall by his side. Illya barely had time get clear of it before is shattered. He immediately jumped into action; he ran up to Gaby and knocked her own glass out of her hand. He quickly grabbed her wrists to ensure she didn’t try to damage any more of the rented room and held them above her head. Even though severely intoxicated, Gaby had enough coordination to quickly thrust her knee between Illya’s legs, causing him to release her hands and fall to the ground. Determined not to be beaten by some one half his height, Illya pushed off of the ground and wrapped his arms around Gaby, pinning her arms to her sides and lifted her off the ground. Clutching her too him, she could do nothing but wiggle back and forth.

            “Let me go, you big brute!” she screamed, still trying to break free of his hold. Her back was pressed against his chest and her hair kept hitting him in the eyes, but he held onto her tightly.

            “Not until you calm down. I do not wish to have any more things thrown at me,” he said calmly. Gaby groaned and began thrashing harder, trying to get away from him. After a few moments, she realized it was hopeless; the Russian was a foot taller than her and had arms as strong as concrete.

            “Alright,” she said, “I’m calm. Will you let me go now?”

            “No,” Illya said, “Not until you promise not to throw things.” His gripped loosened a little, but still held the small German girl a good six inches off of the floor. Gaby rolled her eyes, “Okay” she said.

            “Okay, what?” Illya asked teasingly.

            “I won’t throw anything else,” she said. There was a pause, and then she felt the grip release her and set her on the ground. As soon as she had enough baring, she spun around to smack Illya, but his hand caught hers before it made contact.

            “You promised” he said, lowering his eyes at her.

            “I promised not to throw anything else, not to hit you!” Gaby raised her other hand to smack him and soon found both of her wrists caught and held behind her back. There was no way for her to get loose; her arms behind her and her feet barely touching the ground, she couldn’t get enough momentum to hit him nor get away from him. Illya held her hands tight behind her back while she struggled for a moment. Then she looked up at him; they were pressed chest to chest. Because he was so much taller than Gaby, he had to crouch slightly to hold her hands behind her back without hurting her too much. He could see the anger in her soft brown eyes and the slight pink flush on her cheeks. Her lips were pressed tight against each other in deep thought and her hair had fallen gracelessly out of its ponytail and now framed her face. Illya noticed Gaby had stopped struggling against his hold and was looking up at him. She leaned closer to him, toward his mouth; he could hear her breathing, could feel it on his face as well as smell the vodka on her breath. He immediately released her hands and stepped back, leaving her leaning towards empty air.

            “You are drunk,” he said, gathering his things, “You need to sleep and get ready for tomorrow.” He walked toward the door and crouched to pick up the bits of the potter she had thrown. He had wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, to hold her, gently, in his arms. He wanted this, but only if Gaby wanted it as well. He did not want their first moment to be one she might not remember in the morning, nor did he want it to be an act of drunken madness.

            He put the last piece of pottery in his hand and carefully stood and turned around to find a garbage bin. He felt a hand on the back of his neck pulling him down and then Gaby’s lips on his own, soft and tender. His hands full and her gripping his neck, he could not push her away. After a moment, Illya closed his eyes and kissed her back, softly at first but then with more. What this ‘more’ was, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he had never felt it before and that he liked it. Illya dropped the bits of pottery, and wrapped his arms around Gaby, pulling her towards him, deepening the kiss. He cradled her against his chest as they kissed; slowly moving his hands up and into her loose hair. Leaning up on her toes, Gaby let her arms drape around his shoulders and moved her fingers up to play with the soft blonde hair at the back of his neck. 

            After a moment, she pulled away. “There,” she said, smiling and slightly breathless, “I’ve been meaning to do that.” She reluctantly released her hold on him and headed to the door of her bedroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Illya” she smiled once more at him and gave him a quick wink before closing the door to her bedroom, leaving Illya still dazed from the encounter in the middle of her suite, standing in a pile of broken pottery.


	4. Shopping Spree

The next day the three of them headed out to get Illya new clothes, as Waverly had suggested. They walked up and down a strip of little shops, Illya shaking his head at every one. As they walked, Gaby gently grabbed Illya’s hand and held it softly. Illya tried to hide a small smile and held Gaby’s hand back; if Napoleon noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. Illya could feel the heat from her small hand warm his, the feel of her fingers filling the spots between his own. He took his thumb and began rubbing the back of her hand in small circles. Illya had never held a woman’s hand before and was rather enjoying the feeling of Gaby’s soft pulse from her wrist against his own.  Flushed from the heat and the exertion of walking, Napoleon finally pulled Illya into small store, Gaby following close behind.

            “I did not say I wanted to come here, Cowboy,” Illya said glancing at the small shop, his head nearly brushing the ceiling.

            “We have to start somewhere, Peril, and you were against all of the other shops as well,” Napoleon said looking for someone to assist them. A small elderly woman came out from the back room and approached them.

            “I help you?” the woman asked through a heavy accent. Napoleon reached down and grabbed the woman’s hand gently and kissed the back of it. The elderly woman blushed and smiled, it seemed that Napoleons charm worked on all women, not just the young ones.

            After a brief conversation in Turkish and a few jabs at Illya, the old woman nodded and began pulling suites and clothes off of different racks and piling them in Illya’s arms.

            “Cowboy, I do not need this many. The mission is only one day,” Illya said as the weight of the clothes began to increase.

            “While the mission is only one day, Peril, a good suit can last for more than one occasion. You may have to meet with the Contessa more than once, you know.” Napoleon sat down and began lounging on a sofa next to Gaby and watched as Illya was at the mercy of the small Turkish woman.

            When Illya could no longer see over the stack of suits and dress shirts in his arms, the woman began pulling to the back room.

            “What is she doing?” Illya had a slight nervousness to his tone.

            “She says you are much larger than most people. You will have to try on all of the suits, Peril.”

            Illya’s face turned cold as he shot a scowl at Napoleon and disappeared to the back of the shop, but not before catching a quick wink from Gaby. If this was beneficial to the mission, then it must be done, not matter how much Illya hated it. He had only packed what clothes were necessary; the required number of shirts, pants and under garments and his only pair of shoes. There would be no way he would be able to pack all of these new clothes in his small suitcase.         

            The woman ushered Illya into a small room no bigger than a broom closet and closed the door. There were hangers on the back of the door as well as a mirror on the wall across from him. Illya quickly undressed and pulled on a pair of navy blue slacks and a white button down dress shirt. After pulling on the matching jacket, it was apparent that no part of this outfit would fit him; while the slacks were long enough, they were far too tight and he felt as though he was about to rip the shoulders out of the shirt and jacket. Illya rolled his eyes and began to take off the jacket when he heard a soft tapping on the door. He assumed it was the owner of the shop checking on him.

            “I am sorry, Dear,” he said as he pulled the door open, surprised to see Gaby standing on the other side. “What are you doing?” his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

            “Napoleon said that you might need help” she said, looking him over. He was definitely a sight to be seen; the pants were much too tight to be comfortable for any type of movement and the shirt buttons were pulling apart at the chest, revealing small tufts of blonde chest hair. Gaby stepped toward him to help remove the shirt, “What are you doing?” Illya asked stepping backwards.

            “I am here to help, like Napoleon said” she reached up and began unbuttoning the white shirt. Illya grabbed her hands and held them, “I can do that myself” he said looking at her.

            She pulled her hands free and put them on her hips, “Then I’ll start on the pants, or do you want to do that instead?” Illya blushed hard and opened his arms and stood still, allowing her to start undoing the shirt.

            Gaby took her time with each button, carefully pulling the shirt away from his chest as she undid it then sliding her hands down to the next button to do the same. When she had finished with a button the shirt would lay open against his chest, revealing more and more of him. As she undid one at his stomach, she noticed a jagged scar that ran from his side, up his ribs, and around to his back. From what she could see, it was clearly an old knife wound that had healed and scarred badly. She finished the last button and pulled the shirt open to look at the scar; she touched it gingerly and skimmed her fingers across it, feeling the soft pink flesh. As she traced the scar up his ribs, Illya flinched and moved away from her hand, smiling faintly.

            “That is ticklish,” he said still smiling. Clearly the scar didn’t bother him anymore but Gaby was still curious.

            “How did you get it?” Gaby’s face looked slightly worried and concerned. Seeing this, Illya simply shrugged and pulled the shirt off and casually said “Early training for KGB. I wasn’t always the best. I had to learn.” He turned away from her and put on his classic black turtle neck. When he turned back around to face Gaby, she was much closer to him, so close that he could feel her breath. As she leaned up to him, Illya wrapped his arms around her waist and bent down to meet her lips. There was a sense of urgency in her kiss that seemed like an apology. An apology for what Illya had gone through to be where he was now, an apology for the life he had before as well as the torment that he had gone through.

            Gaby wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stretching hard to reach him. Suddenly she felt his arms around her thighs, lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist, deepening the kiss. Illya backed into the closet sized dressing room and closed the door behind them. He pressed Gaby’s back to the door, partly to ensure that no one interrupted them and partly to hold Gaby there. He could feel her hands push into his hair while her fingers entangled themselves. Her breath was coming quickly now as her tongue explored his mouth and he could feel her heart beat on his chest.

            Supporting her with one arm, he felt his way down her side to the hem of her dress, touching her bare thigh and feeling the soft skin there. Unsure of what to do next, he rested his hand there, pulling her into him and exploring her mouth. In that moment it seemed as though he could not get enough of her; he moved him mouth from hers and began kissing down the side of her neck, feeling the soft skin and smelling the faint lavender soap she had used. As Gaby tilted her head back to give him more access, she reached down to grab the hand on her thigh and move it up and under her dress. Gaby felt more than heard the soft moan vibrate through his chest as his hand moved up to hold her more closely. She smiled and pulled his head up to kiss him more, her tongue quickly invading his mouth. Illya was surprised by how well the fit together, Gaby’s legs wrapped around his waist, her arms on his shoulders and hands in his hair. His other hand moved from her back to her leg, sliding both under her dress, cupping her in both hands.

            Suddenly there was a knock on the other side of the door and both Gaby and Illya froze where they were. After a moment of shock, Illya set her down and began straightening his hair and clothes, Gaby trying to do the same. Illya saw that Gaby was quite flushed and that her lipstick had smeared slightly. He smiled to himself and looked down. Without warning, the door opened just to reveal Napoleon on the other side. He quickly glanced at their state of slight disarray and gave a small half smile.

            “How does everything fit?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow.  

***

             Back in their suite, Illya looked at all of the clothes that Napoleon had bought. After finding the right size and length, Illya now had four new suits, an all black tux, and three different pairs of formal shoes, all in different colors. As he began hanging his new apparel in the closet, his mind slipped back to what had transpired in the dressing room of the small shop. Him and Gaby had never had a chance to talk about their situation, but it never seemed to be a problem. To Illya, it was a though they never needed to talk, that actions were always enough, which he appreciated. He had never been very good with his words, he had never seemed to get across what he really felt and wanted to say.

           Illya suddenly stopped putting the clothes away; his mind returning to the plan and the mission. How would their relationship (could he call it that?) impact the mission? He had never been in this situation nor had his training prepared him. Tapping his finger against the leg of his pants, Illya moved away from the closet and towards the door of the suite. He was becoming angered at his negligence regarding the mission as well as worried for Gaby and the part she had to play. 

         He stopped at the coat rack by the door, looking for his tan leather jacket. It was well into the night and the temperature had dropped significantly. Unable to find his jacket, Illya began tapping his fingers harder against his pants; he was getting frustrated now and needed to go get out of the small room. 

         "Looking for something, Peril," Napoleon asked from the couch, looking up from his news paper.

         "No," he said curtly, opening the door, "I am going out" was the last thing he said before slamming the door of the suite.        

           

           

 


	5. Run in at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya tries to work out what to do with his feelings for Gaby and how they will affect their mission together.

Illya stormed out of the lobby of the hotel and into the brisk night air. The strength of the chill was unexpected and made Illya wish he has found his jacket. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and started walking; he didn’t care where he was going; only that he knew he needed to move. How could he have let himself be so foolish? Getting close to Gaby was fine for the first mission; they were supposed to be engaged. But now, they weren’t even supposed to know each other. He allowed himself to lose sight of the mission and that could cause everything to fall apart. He was a top KGB agent, there was no way they would have tolerated his behavior so far.

            Illya began walking faster down the dark street; he could feel the hard earth beneath him. He pulled his hands out of his pants pockets and began flexing and releasing his fingers. He would have to stop seeing Gaby, for the sake of the mission. Maybe he could avoid her for the rest it, they weren’t even supposed to know each other, so why not act like it? Illya then began to run down the street, his arms pumping in time with his legs. That was the answer; avoid Gaby, do not be alone with her anymore and no more late nights with her either. For the sake of the mission, he would have to. Illya knew that if he got any closer to Gaby, his feelings for her would only grow and he had never been good with feelings. Feelings always made him explode and get too physical.

            Illya could feel his chest begin to burn from breathing so hard; his throat dry as well. But what about Gaby, he thought. Gaby was the only person he had ever met that didn’t confuse him or seem complicated. Gaby never wanted to talk and Illya was thankful for that. Gaby was the only person that made him calm, made him feel in control. He needed Gaby in that way. Illya suddenly stopped running and leaned down to brace his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He needed Gaby, there, he had admitted it. Perhaps not out loud, or to anyone else, but he has admitted it to himself and that was enough. He leaned his back against the stone wall of a building and looked up at the stars.

            He felt confused and angry. He needed Gaby and wanted to be with her, but he had never done that before. He had never felt this way about another person and he didn’t know what to do. He was frustrated by his feelings and angry because he didn’t know how to handle them. Illya wanted to forget, to just forget about Gaby and focus on the mission at hand. Having settled his mind somewhat, he straightened his shirt, and began the long trek back to the hotel, his thoughts focused on the steady rhythm of his breathing.

***

            It was either extremely late or extremely early by the time Illya got back to the hotel. His feet hurt and his legs were sore, but he didn’t seem to care. The lobby was large and empty and there seemed to be no sign of life, except for the fire that was burning in the fire place. The lobby was big enough to accompany a few sitting chairs positioned in a semicircle around the stone fire place.

Being caught off guard by the fire, Illya tensed and reached down for the small blade at his ankle. Careful not to make any noise, he walked towards the back of the chairs; whoever was enjoying the fire was small enough for their heads to be blocked by the chair. Illya heard only the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the soft crackle of the fire as he approached the semicircle of chairs. With a quick inhale, he leapt into the array of chairs and raised his knife at his victim. There was no response from the figure in the chair; she was completely asleep.

After a pause, Illya put the knife back in its holster and looked at Gaby; she was dressed in her classic striped pajamas, and had a large book and a cup of coffee on the small end table next to her chair. Rather than a blanket though, Illya’s light brown leather jacket was wrapped around her. Gaby had pulled her legs up into her chest and was snuggled completely under the vast material of Illya’s jacket. Looking at her, his first instinct was to gently pick her up and carry her to her room, but he caught himself. He wanted nothing more than to hold her against his chest and listen to her sleep; to have her close enough to smell the soap she used on her skin. Illya walked closer to Gaby and looked down at her; she looked calm while she slept, at peace. Instinctively, Illya reached out a hand to push her bangs off of her face, but stopped abruptly.

            If he was to keep his distance from Gaby, he would have to start now. Illya glanced once more at the small car mechanic in the chair and turned to leave, but ran into the end table, knocking over the coffee and shattering the bulb in the lamp.

            “Der’mo!” he knelt quickly to pick up the mug and set the table up. As he turned to place the mug on the level surface, two soft brown eyes looked at him. He could see the sleep in her eyes; how the iris looked slightly cloudy, and the lids drooped at the corners. She had not taken all of her make up off and with her eyes open Illya could see a faint black ring of mascara underneath them.

            “What are you doing?” her voice was low and rough, still full of sleep. Illya quickly gathered the broken pieces of glass and put the lamp back before standing up.

            “I was out,” he said, “for a run.” He dumped the glass into a nearby trash bin and turned towards Gaby. She had unfolded her legs from under the jacket and was stretching them.

            “It’s nearly three in the morning,” she said looking at the clock behind him, “do you usually run at three in the morning?” Gaby cocked one eyebrow at him and smiled slightly. Illya shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot, but remained looking at her.

            “Yes,” was all he said.

            “The you must be tired. Why don’t you sit with me for a bit?” Gaby sat up straighter in the chair and motioned to another that was next to her. Illya remained standing and shook his head.

            “No, thank you,” he said curtly, “It is late. I should sleep. As should you.” It struck him then that it was odd that Gaby was sleeping in the lobby of the hotel and not her own room.

            “Why are you not sleeping in own room?” His eyebrows knit together and he tensed again, expecting danger. Gaby turned towards the end table and picked up the empty coffee mug and examined the inside.

            “Insomnia,” she said to the cup. Illya stood where he was, unsure as to what she meant. While his English was good, there were still things that he did not know. After a moment Gaby looked up to see Illya’s confused face.

            “I can’t sleep,” she said flatly, “I want to sleep, but I can’t. So I thought I would sit out here and read. There is no fire place in my room.”

            Illya nodded slightly and tried to look anywhere but at Gaby. He paused for a second and then turned back to her.

            “Well, as I said. I should sleep. Goodnight.”

            “You don’t want to sit with me?” Gaby asked, looking up at him from her spot. She had pulled her legs up again and had wrapped the jacket around her shoulders. After their encounter in the clothing shop earlier that day, Gaby thought that Illya would want to spend time with her. She knew he didn’t enjoy talking so sitting by the fire seemed perfect for him, and she didn’t mind. She wanted to spend time with Illya, even if it was in silence. She looked forward to his company. The mission didn’t officially start for another day or two, surely they wouldn’t need to spend that entire time focused on studying their targets. They could have a lot of fun in two days.

            “No,” Illya said coldly. He wanted to sit and watch the fire burn out more than anything; he wanted to watch the flames dance on the wooden logs until the sun rose and the kindling ran out. But that was what he wanted, not what he needed. What he needed to do was focus … on the mission.

            “Again, I say good night.” He could see the small twinge of hurt in her eyes, but it was only there for a second before it was gone.

            “Fine,” Gaby said standing, “I should go back to my room.” She grabbed her book and coffee mug and turned her back to Illya, towards her room. Illya watched her until she turned the corner and vanished from his sight.  


End file.
